


The End of a Battle

by slaughter_doll



Series: A.D.F.A.A. [3]
Category: The Hobbit
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:09:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4984030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slaughter_doll/pseuds/slaughter_doll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Holy shit, I found a script of LotR and writing is so much easier now. I used to watch the movie and write out EVERY line that was relevant (which, by the way, IS A LOT), and that's how I did the first story, but holy Mahal it's so much easier now, I just read the script and write. God bless (other) nerds on the internet <br/>Translations: <br/>Puzg rad - Stop now</p></blockquote>





	1. Prequel

“Loni, please, I’m begging you. Don’t go to Khazad-Dum.” I stood crying, much older than I used to be, in front of my son, and the captain of the guard. Though he’s 48 and -by the standards of men- old enough to make his own choices; among Khuzd, he is but a child. I know he is human, with no Dúnedain blood, and he will die not too far from now, but is it so bad that I want to avoid that for as long as possible? “You will meet your demise, nín mela, _please_.”

“Amad,” His hands cupped my shoulders and he brought his forehead to mine. “I love you, so much, but I want to go. My life will not last much longer, and even if it does, I will be frail and old. Let me do this, please?”

“No,” More burning tears welled up in my eyes. “I forbid it.”

He pulled away, and he was crying now as well. How did it come to this? My beautiful boy… Just yesterday he was twenty, going on his first adventure, just like I had at that age. And now, he goes to his last. I blame myself, even to this day, it was I who assigned him that fate, without realizing it. A faint and old memory flickered like a candle in my mind. Ori and I sat in my apartment, he braiding my hair, and I told him about his death.

‘We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. We cannot get out. They have taken the Bridge and the Second Hall. Frár and Lóni and Náli fell there.  
The pool is up to the wall at the Westgate. The Watcher in the Water took Óin.  
We cannot get out. The end comes.  
Drums, drums in the deep.  
They are coming”

~~

Loni never came home, and there came no word of the army who went to reclaim the homeland. But Aowyn knew, and she had eventually told her husband, King Fili. Soon after discovering this, he fell ill, and died, at the young age of 135, despite the best efforts of Erebor and Dale’s finest doctors. Some say that he died of a broken heart, and others write it off to a plague that had been running rampant through that area. Me? No, do not ask what I believe, I am only here to relay the story to you, as it has been told to me.

After losing her family, Aowyn gave the throne to Kili and his wife Tauriel. Shortly after, she disappeared for two years. Very few know where she went, though it was rumoured that she fled to Mirkwood, then Rivendell, and finally, to the Shire, to visit Bilbo Baggins, and his ‘nephew’ Frodo.

Yes, I suppose I should tell you about that as well. Not long after they had left the mountain, perhaps a few years, Thorin had grown ill as well, and passed away. Mad with grief, Bilbo gave away his only son to his childless cousins, Primula Brandybuck and Drogo Baggins. You see, Frodo had Thorin’s raven hair, and his thundering blue eyes, and Bilbo could barely stand the sight of them. However, as most of you know, when Frodo was 12, his adoptive parents passed away, and considering many factors in his life, Bilbo decided to take his son back and leave him the legacy of Bag End.

I suppose you are caught up now, yes? Then I believe it is time to start our story. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I found a script of LotR and writing is so much easier now. I used to watch the movie and write out EVERY line that was relevant (which, by the way, IS A LOT), and that's how I did the first story, but holy Mahal it's so much easier now, I just read the script and write. God bless (other) nerds on the internet   
> Translations:   
> Puzg rad - Stop now

_If you’re referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved_

All consuming fire, taking hold of everything around her. She could barely hear the voices of her Nephew and Gandalf in her ears, and even when she did, it wasn’t for long. She sees the map on Bilbo’s table, burnt to a crisp with embers all around it. The shire is burning. This isn’t right, this is wrong, something is wrong.

_Frodo suspects something_

Bilbo, oh how she misses him. But he isn’t the hobbit she remembers, he is something different… Tainted, corrupted, something ill from the power of the _one_. When she finally looks over to him, he is nothing but a burning corpse. One of thousands. Hills of bodies stacked far above the tallest Ent, burning. Always burning. Is this what the world had become?

_Keep it secret, keep it safe._

“No,” her mid-sleep moans echoed around the stone walls, though she didn’t hear it. All she heard was the screams of the dead. Those long gone, and those yet to die. Oh, the deaths to come. So many. _Too_ many. She looks down to herself in the dream world, and sees the burning red markings of Mordor, the markings of the ring, wrapping around her body. Swirling her thighs, arms, burning her face, neck, toes, and very heart. Around her lay her family, torn to shreds and burning. The nazgul standing around her in a circle, closing in on her with every breath she took.

_Shire… Baggins…_

All nine nazgul whispered in her ears, before one deafening squeal outshined them all.

**_S…Shire! Baggins!_ **

A nightmare had woken Aowyn long before the sun came up, one that shook her to her core. Immediately, she turned and looked at the calendar. Her heart sank when she noticed the date. Bilbo’s birthday had barely passed. Ao wasted no time, stuffing her clothes in a bag without noticing which ones, and grabbed her horse from the stables. She had not slept for days, the only one who had eaten was her horse, and she couldn’t bear to stop for more than an hour or two. All she could do to distract herself from the pain and the worry, was to track where they could possibly be, but in all honesty, she had absolutely no idea. Rivendell, she needed to get to Rivendell. Arwen would know, and she would help.

She was at Rivendell by sun up of the day after next.

“Arwen, Arwen!” Elladan tried to stop Ao from running to the stables which held the daughter of Elrond, but to no avail. Every time he had grabbed hold of her wrist, she quickly slapped him off and bolted off. “Arwen,” Aowyn stopped and panted, making the elleth turn and look at her with surprise. “They’re in trouble.”

“I know,” she whispered, then pulled her horse Asfaloth to the front. “Are you coming with me?”

“Yes.”

They set out immediately, searching for two days, no rest and barely any food. Frori, used to being around dwarves and their particularly large –not to mention often- meals, protested a few times, but he had grown used to it rather quickly.

~~

“They will be that way, keep an eye out for three stone trolls.” Aowyn pointed to the right. “Go get my nephew and take him to your father.”

“Where are you going?” Arwen looked slightly worried, but she knew that Ao was stubborn, and even if she wasn’t, Aowyn would always be okay.

“We don’t know where the other four are.” Frori pranced and huffed impatiently, and Aowyn placed her hand on his neck, then gently patted him in comfort. “I am going to find them, and, hopefully, keep them away from you.” Arwen nodded a good luck, and the two women urged their horses on. As the elleth rode away, Aowyn turned to watch her go as Fróri and Asfaloth both charged off and whispered “ _stay strong, Frodo, just a little longer_.”

About the same time that Arwen picked up Frodo, Aowyn met two of the missing four in the woods, not far from the stone trolls. She had to get them away from Aragorn and the hobbits. Aowyn pulled out her bow and shot two quick arrows and rode towards the east. It did not take long for two to turn into four, and among them rode her grandfather. The other five were behind the elleth, or Ao had guessed.

When she believed they were far enough, she turned Fróri around and waited. They _had_ followed her, but she could not see them. “Puzg rad!” She raised one hand and waited. They would be around her any second. To the right, she could smell smoke, and remembered one of the nine being burned, by none other than Aragorn himself. Ao closed her eyes and took a deep breath, when she opened them again, they surrounded her, swords raised, horses snarling. “Stop now. You _will not_ pass me.”

Out of the four, one in specific trotted forward, and the air around him – _it_?- made her incredibly uncomfortable. Fróri shifted in fear, but calmed down a little when she leaned down and whispered Khuzdul in his ear. The Nazgul was in front of them now, and the human turned to it fearlessly. Both swords were raised, and both met flesh. The first, being Be-Header, drove itself through the Ring-Wraith’s shoulder, and the other, well… It wasn’t nearly as bad, or it wouldn’t be, had it been a normal blade. It had been stopped by her raised palm, but due to the force in the swing, it had cut straight through a few inches worth of flesh. Immediately, a dark infection began to spread through to her wrist. The two stared at each other as her blood began to drip down his blade, and she knew. It was her grandfather, Fuinur.

 _“My child, listen to me,”_ For the first time in her life, she heard her grandfather’s unchanged voice. How he sounded when he was human, when he was of Númenór, before he turned away from the Valar and the Eldar. A single tear fell down her cheek and she wished he, in human form, would gently stroke it away and hold her close. Though, it appeared that fate, once again, dealt her an unfair hand. _“I do not wish to harm you, I desire the same goal as you._ We _desire the same goal as you. We only want to rest, Aowyn.”_

There were so many things she wanted to say to him, to ask him. Why did he follow Sauron? Did he miss her mother? Had he noticed she disappeared? But she couldn’t, and she quickly accepted that. Gasping, sobbing, and hurting, she nodded. And before she could realize what was happening, she was lying on the ground, with a bound palm –did she do that? She couldn’t really remember, though, she was in such a daze that nothing felt real… but the thought of wrapping her hand did feel familiar -, and Fróri nuzzling at her neck, as he so frequently did. She stood up with a start and quickly unbound her hand. The cut was deep, and stuffed with a root of some sort. She found that her hand would barely open, and her body felt heavy –vaguely she remembered falling off of her horse, and hitting the ground-. Purple and black and filled her veins all the way down to an inch below her wrist, and she was most likely covered in bruises all over her body.

With a jump, everything was erased from her mind until one thing remained. _Frodo_. “Frori, kneel.” The horse did as he was told, and knelt down, allowing Aowyn easier access to her saddle. When he noticed her struggling, he turned his head and gently pushed her up. When Ao was comfortably seated, she held her hand firmly against her chest and leaned against her horse’s neck, gently whispering in his ear. “Thank you, my friend. Now, to Rivendell, fast as you can!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on making these chapters longer than the others. Or at least, as long as I can. This one was three pages on Word and I'm hoping to keep that the minimum, but knowing me? I'll probably get lazy (I'm going to fight that as long as I can tho)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this one is really short, because the next one will be painfully long. I apologize in advance.

When she woke, her hand felt sore, and her body even more so. With a groan, Ao sat up and looked around. The familiar walls of Rivendell were well lit by the now rising sun. Without making a sound, the woman walked to the table beside the door and slipped into one of her smaller royal gowns, ones simply meant for being with family and close friends, not duties around the mountain. From where she stood, she could hear the rushing water and the hushed murmurs from beyond her door. At first, she worried that Elrond was speaking to someone about her state, as if she were dying, but soon she realized that the two voices were native Westron speakers, and most likely hobbits. She rolled her eyes and silently tiptoed closer. The voices were familiar –and unaware that she was awake-, but she was in for a pleasant surprise when she pulled open the door. Two small and blonde hobbits fell to the ground at her feet. “Peregrin Took and Meridoc Brandybuck. I might have known…” She smiled brightly as the two beamed up at her.

“Aunt Aowyn, you’re awake!” They quickly hugged her stomach, but as she knelt down, they rested their heads on her shoulders. They had always called her Aunt Aowyn, even when they were wee children. When they grew older and learned of her position as Queen of Erebor, she had quickly banned the idea of them referring to her as ‘your majesty’. She would had told them that Bilbo had been courted by a king, but that would have broken her promise to Thorin. “We’re so glad you’re okay.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, my loves.” She quickly placed a kiss upon each of their heads, before pulling away. “Where is Gandalf? I must speak with him.”

~~

Elrohir, one of Ao’s dear elf friends, and one of the sons of Elrond, guided her to a sort of meeting place, once used for the White Council, when Gandalf proved the return of Sauron. Gandalf was there, accompanied by Elrond, who were mostly likely discussing the ring. “Aowyn! My dear, you are awake.” She placed a hand over her heart and bowed, to both Elrond and Gandalf. “I heard you must speak with me.” She nodded in reply to Tharkȗn.

“I shall take my leave then,” Elrond began to stand, before Aowyn shook her head.

“No, I believe this is something you should both hear.” She took a seat across from them and unwrapped her hand. With a wince, she opened it as wide as she could (which wasn’t very much) and placed it upon the table. “This wasn’t an accident.”

“You were lucky.” Tharkȗn chewed on the end of his pipe. “It could have been a lot worse.”

“I am aware, but you have to listen to me.” She took a deep breath. “I am Fuinur’s granddaughter. And, before now, none knew who seven of the Nazgul were, as we all know of the Witch King of Angmar, and Khamûl. But now I _know_ , my grandfather is one of them. He sliced my palm, and when my blood touched his blade, I could hear his voice. He told me-”

Elrond quickly held his hand up in an effort to quiet her. “We know what he told you, and you must not say it. Not while the ring is so close to you.” She was confused for a second, but her memory sparked and she looked over at the old wizard with an annoyed glare.

“Was a talking in my sleep, or did you peer into my memory?” Mithrandir merely gave her a mischievous smile in reply, which sparked a small grin on her lips. “What does this mean? Do we have a sort of connection now?”

The two men sighed. “We aren’t sure.” Elrond’s eyes flickered over to Gandalf, who had crossed his hands and used them to rest his chin to think for a moment, before he took a defeated breath. “No one before this, before _you_ , has borne a mark from a Nazgul and recognized them as family. I must admit that I do not entirely understand the possibilities.”

“The great Tharkȗn, without knowledge on something dark and evil?” Ao playfully jeered. “There is a first for everything, I suppose.” He gently laughed and took a drag from his pipe, before Aowyn took one of his hands and looked into his eyes. “Thank you… For your council, that is.” He knew she meant thank you for everything he had done for Bilbo and Frodo, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I believe I’m going to visit my Uncle-in-Law, and my dear cousin.” The ex-Queen stood, bowed, and turned to leave before an idea sparked in her mind. “Elrond, would you mind terribly if I borrowed the library for a bit?” He seemed surprised that she would even ask, considering they were old friends and he had told her many times before that she was free to do as she pleased, but he smiled and nodded nonetheless. Now there was a bound in Ao’s steps, she could see Bilbo! And she _was_ going to figure out this Fuinur issue, even if she had to dig up her old backpack to do it!

~~

After checking up on Frodo, who was still sleeping (it was only the second of October after all), she had taken upon herself to walk around and enjoy the sights that Rivendell had to offer. She had walked to one of the foyers and leant against a pillar, thinking about all the things to come, and of her nightmare from nearly a week before. “ _Oh_ , Aowyn,” Bilbo’s shaky voice brought a smile to Ao’s face as she turned to see him sitting down on a bench. How she had missed him… It had been ten years since she last saw him, after Fee’s funeral she had stayed in Bag End for nearly a year. Shaking off the bad memories, she sat down next to him, looking out at the waterfall behind him, not entirely sure that she could look in his eyes without bursting into tears, and took his hands in hers. “Tell me of Erebor, how is our dear king?”

“The mountain is flourishing. You know Kee, he’s just as stubborn as he always was, and, if you can believe it, his daughter is even worse!” They laughed together, and Aowyn teared up when she finally looked into those golden-brown eyes, saw the longing in them. She knew how badly he wanted to go back and visit his husband’s tomb, just as she wanted to visit hers. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“I am old, my dear.” He looked up at her and smiled sadly. “You don’t need to lie to me.” When the tears brimming their eyes threatened to fall, she cupped his face and put her forehead to his, careful to not touch his hair. You see, hair, to Khazad, was a special thing. You only touched the hair of someone you loved, usually only mother’s to their children, between siblings or cousins, or wives to their husbands. Although she loved Bilbo, and it would be appropriate to touch his now grey locks, she felt that it wouldn’t be the best of ideas. She imagined that no one used to those customs had gently caressed that hidden bead below the nape of his neck, Thorin’s bead, in years. The last thing she wanted was to upset him.

But, as always, he continued to surprise her. His frail hand reached up and took a gentle hold of Fili and Loni’s beads, both of them at the end of a braid that wrapped behind her ear and come over her shoulder –with the rest of her hair- to cover the scar on her collarbone. It not faded, not in all of the nearly 80 years since the day of Ravenhill. She flinched slightly when he grabbed the braid, but calmed her nerves as her twisted and turned the beads between his fingers. “I miss them so much.” Her words seemed to surprise him, but he merely nodded.

“I wish we had come back before…” Fresh tears were now falling down Bilbo’s cheek. Aowyn’s thumb gently wiped them away. “He always missed it, so much. He missed you, and the boys. I just wish I hadn’t-”

Aoywn quickly turned his head up to look her in the eyes. “Do not blame yourself, Mr. Boggins.” He smiled sadly at the name Kili had mistakenly given the old hobbit. “He chose, _on his own_ , to return to Bag End. You did nothing wrong.” With a sniffle, he nodded gently and leant into her shoulder. Ao happily wrapped her arms around him, and held him until the tears subsided.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today because I've had four cups of coffee and I'm pretty sure my heart is going to stop at any second. Either that, or I'm going to puke. Please excuse the insanity in these two chapters (both mine and Ao's). ANYWAY. Here's what Ao's hair will look like during the entire story, unless I tel you otherwise (I've been wearing my hair like this for the past week. Is it acceptable to cosplay your own OC? Because I actually look just like Ao... Redhead, green eyes, etc.):   
> Hair one: https://40.media.tumblr.com/8a7d932d073fd2c103968a39af791d7e/tumblr_ng4pnicclK1sgcpigo1_500.jpg  
> Hair two: https://thevikingqueen.files.wordpress.com/2013/12/img_4228.jpg  
> Youtube tutorial for you, I guess (that isn't me): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yboAEjuYf_g
> 
> Okay, so Olorin was Gandalf's original name when he was chosen to be the second Istari by the Valar. He was Nienna's pupil, which is why he is Gandalf the Grey (Nienna wore a grey hood, and that's all we know about her appearance).

As Aowyn checked on Frodo _again_ , she gently stroked his hair and smiled when he moved towards the touch. He would wake soon. The wooden chair beneath her creaked when her body leant forward and kissed his sleeping temple. He was drenched slightly in sweat, most likely from battling the toxins plunged into him by the morgul blade. Her mind tore her eyes away from the wound, which the ring was barely an inch away from, and moved her attention to his raven locks. He truly did look like his Adad, much more than he looked like Bilbo. She remembered a day after Fili died, during the year she spent in the Shire, when she had taken it upon herself to help with Bilbo’s garden.

 _It was a sunny day, and she felt the need to plunge her hands into rich soil and bring life to something. Besides, Bilbo had been too busy lately to take care of most of his garden, save for the acorn tree that he and Thorin had planted, not long after their arrival. As she walked along the small wooden fence, her eyes had not left it, until she came to the flowers. It was taller than Bag End, and could be seen from anywhere in the Shire. On one of the taller branches, as Ao remembered, were the initials of the three royal couples from Erebor. During one of their last visits together, when the children were three-ish, the group had gotten a little too drunk, and decided to climb the tree. Fili was the first to carve his lover’s name in Khuzdul, before Kee and Thorin joined in._ What a wonderful night _. Aowyn said to herself with a smile as she turned to the neglected flowers._ Yavanna would be ashamed, Bilbo Baggins.

_Leave it to a Baggins to have a plethora of flowers. Lotus, Lilies, Marigolds, Holly Hock, Moon Flowers, and even a Cherry Tree sapling growing in the corner. Her delicate fingers traced the petals of a small carnation, when a familiar voice came from behind her. “Aunt Aowyn?”_

_She turned with a smile. He had just woken up, and held two cups of coffee in his hands. “Frodo, hello. How did you sleep?”_

_“Just fine, thank you.” His blue eyes shined in the sun. A stormy blue with hints of sunbeams. She wanted so badly to tell him that he looked like his father, but knew she could not. “Lost in your thoughts today?”_

_“You caught me.” The Dúnadan smiled, before reaching out and patting to the ground. “Come, let me show you something.” Frodo raised his eyebrow, but followed her instruction and knelt down beside her. When he set down the mugs, she traced the petals again. “Look at the garden, what do you see?”_

_“Something that needs watering.” He joked, and Ao playfully shoved him in return. “I’m not sure, what do you see?”_

_“I see the Valar. All of them.” A smirk formed on both of their faces and he nodded, to tell her to continue. Ever since he was little, she would send him letters with lessons on the history of Middle Earth and all of the surrounding lands. When she actually visited, he always fell asleep to one of her crazy stories about, well, everything, from Giant Spiders to Gods and Goddesses, Ents to Orcs. She was a lot like Bilbo in that regard. “Look here, this flower is Yavanna, the Lady of the Earth. She made everything you see here, she made the Ents, and much, much more. And here,” Aowyn picked up a handful of soil. “This is Aulë, Lord of the Earth and the smith. He made the dwarves, and this, among so many other things. The mixture of soft clay and stone gave Yavanna what she needed to grow her creations.” Aowyn wiped the dirt off of her hands and stood. Together the two of them walked to the well, and Frodo pulled the bucket out of it. “Can you guess who this is?”_

_“Ulmo?” He looked into her eyes and she nodded._

_“Lord of the Water, and King of the Sea.” The water was nice and cool when Ao dipped her hands in. “Yavanna also needs this to nurture her children. You see, all fifteen exist in all of us.”_

_“Don’t you mean fourteen?” He turned his head and looked at her, as the bucket was slowly lowered back down into the well._

_“No,” Aowyn shook her head. “Melkor is not considered Vala anymore, this is true. But he dwells in us as well. We all have the potential for evil, Frodo. Its weather or not we act on it that matters.”_

They sat and talked for hours that day. She was losing herself in another memory when Gandalf snapped her out of it. “That was a beautiful memory.”

Ao scoffed. “You really should keep to your own mind, and not other’s.” She was in a playful mood, but realized there was a sad look in his eyes and regretted her taunt. “You will see them again, Olórin.” The use of his original name shocked Tharkȗn, as no one had used it in so long, so she stood and placed her hand on his shoulder to try and ease the pain. “You have made them so proud, I know it.” He was going to say something, but decided against it, and simply smiled. She mirrored the look and placed a kiss on his forehead, before leaving to go to the library.

~~

Hours later, books upon books piled all around Aowyn as she poured herself another cup of coffee. She had been at it for hours, with page after page of notes. She felt bad for making such a big mess. _Is that ink bottled spilling_? But there was not much to know about the Nazgȗl in this world, and what there was, you had to dig for it. If only she had brought her laptop all those years ago! Not that it would have done much, the most she had on it was a few documents she had downloaded for a paper when she was 17. Earlier, Ao had dug through her bag (not the one buried at Erebor, which held her phone and most of her Earth-related belongings, but rather the one from Fili for her 30 th birthday), and pulled out three books. _The Silmarillion_ , _Unfinished Tales_ , and her special copy of _The Tolkien Reader_. They were old, frayed, and faded, but they did most of the work for her, as she had taken many notes within the pages. Elrond had a few books from the old ages, which held very little information, but any at all was helpful. Her notes were distressed, random, messy. None of it actually connected to what she was looking for. Oh, you don’t believe me? Allow me to show you.

_The three main things that Tolkien had ever revealed about the past and the histories of the Nazgȗl was simple._

_First, and the most obvious, the leader of the nine is the Witch-King of Angmar. After the initial defeat of Sauron during the War of the Last Alliance, his second-in-command fled to Angmar; a place known as a “Kingdom of Evil.” In Eriador, northwest of Arnor, located on the Mountains of Angmar, hence the name. Founded in TA (Third Age) 1300, it was inhabited by Orcs, Men, and Trolls, all of which ruled by the infamous Witch-King. He also ruled Osgiliath for a brief amount of time, but mainly held control over Angmar and Minas Morgul. During the time of TA 1974, the Witch-King multiplied his forces (from a long and painful war against Arthedain, Rivendell and Cardolen), and launched a final attack against the home of the Dúnedain. He took hold of Arthedain’s capital, named Fornost, and in doing so, he eradicated the last of the Kingdom of the Northern Dúnedain. This, of course, caused them to scatter across lands like the Shire, and became Rangers. They were lost, they are lost. Until their king, their rightful king, comes back to guide them;_ Aragorn _. Nevermind the other two things. It couldn’t matter, could it? Is it all connected? Damn._

 _In the_ very _beginning, around SA 32, as told in the_ Silmarillion _, Númenor, or Elenna, the kingdom of the Dúnedain, came to be. It was an island in the Great Sea, between Middle Earth and Aman (or the Blessed Realm). As a gift to the race of Men, it was brought up from the sea, and given the name Elenna not only because it was in the shape of a star, but because the Dunedain were led there by the Star of Eärendil. The Valar had banned the Numenoreans to sailing westward, to the point where Elenna was no longer visible. They feared the discovery of the Blessed Lands, which men were barred from entering. Could this be why Fuinur turned away? Is this why he betrayed them? Did he too fear the Gift to Mortal Men? Did he fear death as much as I do now? There_ has _to be something I’m missing._

Can you see now? Her mind is in shambles at this point. And before you ask, _yes_ , this will be a bumpy ride.

Aowyn stopped writing her thoughts down and flipped back to the _History of Númenór_ , one of Elrond’s secret books. There had to be more to the story. She needed to understand how exactly everything went down, she needed to know what happened. Why everything went _so_ wrong. She groaned and pulled at her beads; she was so tired. Everything led to dead ends, and when it didn’t, it was a maze with _only_ dead ends. She found nothing on seven of the Nazgȗl, let alone one individual!

“Ao?” Legolas walked up and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. She quickly flinched in reply, before pulling hair out of the way and looking up at him. Her eyes were sunken in and purple, with bags far beyond any point he had seen before. Those usually emerald eyes had become stained with groggy red veins, and she moved slowly, like a child who had just woken from a nap. All of the braids and beads usually imbedded in those red locks had been removed, only to be piled on the desk next to her. Legolas was so shocked with how she looked, he almost forgot his mission, as it was nearly time for the meeting. Aowyn smiled slightly, an almost brittle smile, topped off with downcast eyes and tears hiding just behind her nonchalant act. Something was wrong, and he knew it.

“Hey, Legs.” Her voice sounded so ordinary, as if it were just another day of the week. But the piles of paper, the books stacked all around her, the coffee stains, the spilled ink, absolutely everything around her depicted a collapse. She had always stayed strong around him and his father, but he knew better, on the inside, she was a wreck.

“What’s wrong?” Legolas took a seat next to her and placed his hand on hers. This small gesture had, surprisingly, hit her hard. Ao pulled her injured hand to her chest and cried, really truly cried. Earlier with Bilbo had barely scraped the surface, but now the barricade had broken, and the flood was coming. The past 74 years, she had bottled up everything. She had bottled up her son and husband’s deaths, she had bottled up the truth about her grandfather, hell, she even bottled up Parker’s passing. Now it was all out, and there was no going back. So Aowyn told Legolas everything. And nearly three hours later, he studied her palm as she sipped her coffee. He was always so caring and so kind. Though he rarely showed it, Legolas had as big a heart as any hobbit, who regularly wear their hearts on their sleeves. She loved that about him, and she loved realizing that Thranduil was the same way, once you got to know him. Underneath the vanity and sarcasm, he was, honestly, a _good_ person. Believe me, or don’t, that is your choice. But as I told you before, I am here to relay the story to you as it has been told to me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STILL SHAKING FROM THE CAFFEINE HELLO. Big shout out to Folgers for supporting me throughout the past three books in this series, and the two from my other one. Also, I promise Ao and Boromir won't hate each other forever. Probably. Maybe.
> 
> Pretty much Ao in this chapter: https://31.media.tumblr.com/92477251d8883a30389f45fe2512c111/tumblr_ntryuwIq8k1s2oxgqo1_500.gif
> 
> Translations:  
> Zidar Akhuzd - Tall Dwarf  
> Naugrim - Stunted People (horrible insult)  
> Rukhsul - Orc Offspring

Later, Aowyn joined Gimli and a few of Erebor’s council members at the meeting to decide the fate of the ring. Elrond had not arrived yet, and neither had Frodo, but everyone else was. She was the only woman there, and earned various looks because of it. However, and not to her surprise, it was Boromir’s sarcasm that earned her attention. “I did not realize there would be handmaidens at this meeting.”

Aowyn was going to write it off, instead of breaking his nose like she wanted to, but Gimli decided otherwise. “This is my Queen, Zidar Akhuzd,” He scoffed. “And you owe her an apology.”

“I thought she was a myth, from over 50 years ago!” That was not the first shock Boromir would get today, but Aowyn nodded.

“I am turning 99 next year.” She crossed her arms over her chest after fixing her crown, in a subtle substitute for biting her thumb. He continued to look at her quizzically, and when she could not take it, she turned to him and smiled. “I am Dúnadan. So now, if you could, quit staring at me, I would greatly appreciate it.” They met eyes for the briefest of moments before Ao felt Aragorn’s eyes burning a hole in her head. When the she finally met the younger’s eyes, she saw nothing but shock. Surely he had known, right? But before she could say something to him, Elrond brought out Frodo and the meeting begun.

“Strangers from distant lands, friends of old.” The king sat down and gestured to the ones around him. He talked for a minute, drabbling really, but no one seemed to mind. “Bring out the ring, Frodo.” The half-hobbit looked to his aunt nervously, and when she nodded supportively, he stood and walked over to the stone pedestal in the middle of the circle. He seemed reluctant to let go, and she saw it, the sickness. It had not taken hold of him yet, but it would, just as it did to his Adad.

“So it is true.” Boromir sounded shocked, which surprised Aowyn. Men could be so ignorant sometimes. Various murmurs took hold of the council, and Ao tried to listen to the elders that Gimli had brought along, but she could not. “It is a gift…” As the man of Gondor began to explain that it should be used as a weapon, and that it should go to Gondor, simply because they had been keeping Mordor at bay, she found herself annoyed. Ignorant, it would seem, was not the only trait this man had. Just when Aowyn was going to tell him to shut up, Elessar stepped in.

“You cannot weild it, _none of us can_.” He sat up straight, and sighed. “The ring answers to Sauron and Sauron alone.”

“He’s right.” She piped in for the first time, and most of them seemed stunned. “You cannot control it.”

Boromir threw up his hands. “And what would a ranger and a _tall dwarf_ know of this?”

“That is no mere ranger!” Legolas stood at the first chance to defend his friend. The ‘Gondor needs no king’ conversation took place for a few minutes, and, out of annoyance, Aowyn tuned them out. She fiddled with the hem of her dress, while watching all of the figures from the corner of her eye. Poor Frodo looked so uncomfortable and she wished with all her heart that she could walk over and comfort him. But, he was a grown man, and didn’t need extra babying, beyond her normal capabilities. Ao was so caught up her in thoughts, that she did not hear Gandalf and Elrond say that the ring needed to be destroyed. Before she knew it, Gimli was rushing towards the ring with his weapon. “Gim, no!” She tried to reach for him, but it was too late. His mighty axe swung down and collided with the wicked thing, only to have it shattered into a million pieces, and he was flung back into his chair by the very force of it. When the pebbles landed, everyone stared at the ring in disbelief. Of course, it had survived you see. When he stood and sat back down, Aowyn smacked the back of his head, something she had done since Lóni was young. “ _Fool_.”

“The ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess.” Elrond looked serious on the outside, but Ao was sure that on the inside, he was just as irritated as her. He explained that it must be taken to Mount Doom, where it had been created, and only there could it be destroyed. Multiple eyes rolled when Boromir piped in, saying that one cannot simply waltz into Mordor and toss it into the flames. It was barren wasteland, and they all knew it.

“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” Legolas stood again. “The ring must be destroyed!”

And despite her best efforts, Gimli stood as well. “And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it!”

And that is how it started. Threats, demands, ideas, insults, all mixed together in a gigantic storm of an argument brewed around the group. Aowyn noticed that both she and Aragorn decided to sit this out and wait for it to pass. That is, until someone made a bad decision in the wording department. Among the fighting and the yelling, Aowyn heard one of the men of Gondor yell “I would take an arrow to the heart before I let any greedy _Naugrim_ go anywhere near the one ring!” This word, Naugrim, was a Sindarin insult for Khazâd; meaning _stunted people._ Of course, this filled Aowyn with anger, and she launched at the man, with the full intention of killing him. If two elves and a dwarf had not grabbed both her arms and held her back as she kicked and tried to attack him, she most likely would have ended his life.

“You dirty _rukhsul_!” Her vicious roars attracted the attention of Gimli, who had been busy fighting with Legolas. He decided to do nothing but watch to make sure she did not get hurt. It was, after all, his job. “How _dare_ you refer to my people that way!”

“ _Your people_?” Boromir laughed. “You are Dúnedain, _we_ are your people.”

Aowyn broke free of the arms that held her and rushed towards the Steward’s son, not stopping until they were nose to chin. “I would not be part of your people if you were the last kingdom in Middle Earth.” She spat pure acid with the full intention of hurting his pride. When that didn’t do enough damage, she pulled out a small dagger from her corset and moved to place it on his throat. “I was their queen, so don’t you _dare_ insult them, for I may spill your blood in front of Aulë himself.”

“My lady, stop!” Gimli pulled her away and snatched the blade from her hand. They were about to start yelling with Gondor again, when Frodo stood.

“I will take it.” Silence took hold of every throat there. Even Gandalf seemed at a loss for words. “I will take the ring to Mordor. Though… I do not know the way.” A new kind of pain took hold of Ao’s heart. It was not a surprise, this is the way it was always supposed to happen, but she was not prepared for those words to leave his mouth. Perhaps she never would have been. She wrapped one arm around her waist as Gandalf, Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas pledged their allegiance. Before Boromir could pitch in, Frodo looked at his aunt, and she nodded. Her legs took her to him in three quick strides and Aowyn knelt in front of him, her unharmed hand cupping his cheek. “I will stand beside you until I join the ancient kings of old, and even far beyond that my dear. This I promise.” He smiled before scanning the group again, and that was when Boromir promised the aid of Gondor.

“Here!” Sam burst from one of the bushes behind them, and shoved everyone out of the way until he was beside Frodo. “Mr. Frodo’s not going anywhere without me!”

“No, indeed.” Elrond smiled slightly. “It is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is invited to a secret council, and _you_ are not.” The group chuckled a little, and Aowyn laughed when Merry and Pippin ran in from behind the pillars. Poor Elrond, he looked incredibly disappointed in his guards. “10 companions… So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Ao is really that old. I did the math and everything


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will stay true to the book in certain regards, and I will stay true to PJ's (dumb and inaccurate, yet completely lovable) portrayal.

They were set to leave in the morning, and Aowyn decided to pack before dinner so she could rest easily tonight. Well, not easily. Sleep had not been a good escape lately –when she got it, that is. But she would need it for the journey ahead, so she would probably make some of her ‘ _Knock-out Tea_ ’. Aowyn picked up one of her dresses and smiled as her fingers ran across the hem, feeling the thick stitches, and the runes on the bottom. Dis had made this for her years ago, before Ao left on a journey to the Iron Hills. It was sturdy, yet comfortable. She could move easily when wearing it, and it did not require a corset. When she smelled it, the scent of burning furnaces and stone filled her nose. To anyone else, it would have been an odor, but to her, it was a perfume. Fili usually came to bed smelling like that (he had not given up his love for the forges, even after he became king, and Aowyn was always wearing a new ring or bead), and she loved it. She loved him. With a nostalgic grin, Aowyn folded the dress and placed by her bed. She would wear it tomorrow when they set off. It wouldn’t feel right to be without it. As Ao picked up a (men’s) tunic and began to fold it, a knock came from her door. “It’s open.”

“I remember you. I was at your wedding.” Elessar leaned against the doorframe after he opened it. When she turned to look at him, he was strangely serious.

Aowyn pushed some hair behind her ear and sighed. “Of course you remember, you were, what, ten years old?” He scoffed softly and walked towards her as she shoved the tunic and it’s chainmail in her bag.

Aragorn picked up her belt and examined the attached sword. She hoped that he wouldn’t unsheathe it, though she wasn’t sure why. “You should not come.” His voice was now soft as he said this. “Go home, Aowyn.”

A bitter laugh left her lips and she angrily snatched Be-Header from his hands. “I am a grown woman, Elessar.” They met eyes and she straightened her back in a pathetic show of dominance. “Besides, I belong her three times as much as you do. I delivered Frodo and have cared for him since he was a wee babe.”

“You delivered him?”

Her eyes went wide as she realized what she had said. With a curse to herself, she muttered “yes.” Aowyn looked at the door to make sure no one was listening. “In Erebor. He is Thorin Oakenshield’s son. My cousin.” Aragorn opened his mouth to say something but she shushed him. “He does not know, nor will he. You will _not_ tell him. Bilbo does not want him to know. Not yet.” She sighed again and latched her backpack. She was done packing for now. “I just wanted you to know, in case… In case I don’t get to tell him one day.”

“So he…” Isildur’s successor struggled to form a sentence. “So he is Erebor’s heir?”

Aowyn shrugged. “Not really. He is half dwarf, but by now, he wouldn’t be able to learn everything he needed to know in time to take the throne.” She knew what he would ask next. “The throne will go to Dain’s son after King Kili passes away, but that won’t be for a while. He’s barely 155.” Aragorn sat down and nodded slowly. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for saving Frodo.”

He nodded again, but didn’t take his eyes off of the floor. “I remember what you told me,” he said quietly. “About the war, and taking the throne. Is it true?”

“Yes,” He seemed stressed to her, but she continued anyway. He needed to make his peace with this. “The White City, and any Dúnedain that never made it there, will stand beside you.” His head snapped up and he started at her. “They’re lost, Elessar; they need you.”

“You keep calling me that,” His grey-blue eyes reminded her of the Celduin River, outside of her home. “Elessar. What does it mean?”

Aowyn smiled and touched the Evenstar around his neck. “It means Elfstone. The Elessar will be a gift to you, not too far from now.”

“Tell me about it.” As he asked this, Aowyn pulled her hand away and smiled in response. She told him how it was brought by Olórin when he arrived to Middle Earth, as a sign that the Valar had not forsaken them. He then gave it to Lady Galadriel, to pass on as a gift to him. And that his name would be that of the stone: Elessar. When she finished, he sat in silence for a while. She was unsure how to support him, or, in the very least, help him understand, so she merely took her pipe from her bag and nodded towards the door. They walked quietly for a while, trying to find a quiet spot to sit. When they could not find any seats with a quiet atmosphere, Aowyn pulled him to a ledge near the river and there they sat, looking out at the moon and softly humming songs of old. He did not ask of what was to come, nor she did tell; he simply enjoyed the peace of the moment, and Ao relished in it.

~~

The next morning, the fellowship set out, refreshed and with full stomachs, courtesy of Lord Elrond. Bilbo had cried when Aowyn and Frodo said goodbye, and she promised that she would protect his son, no matter the cost. And with a kiss to his forehead, she lefts, weeping bitter tears. 

They walked for hours, past deep valleys and raging waters, until they came upon the brae, or slope, of the Misty Mountains, and then they hiked until they reached the cap. Where they continued to march along; they marched for hours. Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks. The bunch had not yet seen snow, though Aowyn was sure it wasn’t too far away. For now, their location was a little more than a third of the way to Rohan; Eregion Hills.

It was time for breakfast, and Sam had set up fire towards the back of the brow of the mountain. Boromir decided to teach Merry and Pippin how to fight as Aragorn and Aowyn took a smoke break, albeit from different parts of the brow. He was being gentle, and going easy on them, which she greatly appreciated. If he hurt them, she would have to hurt him. Ao watched from afar, with Gandalf and Gim next to her. Gimli had finally cornered Gandalf, “If anyone were to ask my opinion, which I note they have not, I would say we were taking the long way round!” Aowyn’s head snapped to look at him. _Oh, no_ was her first thought. “Gandalf, we could pass through Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome.” The mentioning of his name stung Aowyn a little, she did miss him; along with Ori and… And Lóni.

“No, Gimli.” Gandalf’s stern words calmed Aowyn a little, despite the fact that she knew the truth. “I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice.”

Gim was going to fight him on the subject, but he noticed his Queen’s glare. “Drop it, Gimli,” she hissed. He took a breath and nodded, entirely confused, but knew better than to question her. With a shaky breath of her own, Aowyn hugged herself as she stood and began to walk away. Aragorn laughed at something, which pulled her attention; Merry and Pippin had tackled Boromir playfully, and they were laughing greatly. But not for long.

“What is that?” Sam looked to the sky, and so had Legolas. There was a patch of black in the sky, like fire but with no origin. Gimli simply wrote it off –just a wisp of cloud!-, and it frustrated Aowyn that he was so nonchalant about things. His father raised him better than that.

“It’s moving fast.” Boromir stood and walked towards the group. “And against the wind.”

The realization had hit Aowyn way too late. “Crebain from Dunland!” She yelled, and Aragorn quickly replied, telling them to hide. Ao ushered the hobbits who were running past her to find shadow as Sam put out the fire. There was very little to hide behind, but the caravan succeeded in being unseen. By the time the birds made their way to the brow of the mountain, there was no hide nor hair of the fellowship. Aowyn had hid behind a boulder with Boromir and Frodo, whom she pulled to her chest and whispered soft comforts in his ear. They spent the rest of the day like that, no fire, no food, out of fear of more spies. By the time the moon was high in the sky, Aowyn had hummed Frodo to sleep; Boromir was beginning to feel the pull of sleep at his eyes when he turned and spoke to her for the first time since the fight at Rivendell. “You truly care for the halflings.”

“Don’t call them that.” She snapped quickly, but immediately felt bad for it. He was only trying to be kind. “I’m sorry. They’re family, and I love them all so much.” Her hands ran through Frodo’s hair and she smiled sweetly before looking at the dirty blonde man. He had a good heart, though it was tainted with desire and greed, she remembered his death that was to come. He cares for his people, just like Thorin, and in a way, he is Thorin. “I’m sorry for what I said. About Gondor,” She looked into his grey eyes and smiled slightly. “The White City _is_ where my people are, but I am biased towards the people that I served for nearly 80 years.” She sighed again and felt Frodo’s thick hair. Though the curls were from Bilbo, it was thick like Thorin’s. She sighed softly and leant her head against the stone. “You only want what is best for… For _our_ people.” They looked at one another again and grinned.

“Tell me,” Boromir’s eyes looked down to the sleeping hobbit in the woman’s lap. “What is it about them, about _him_ , that made you care so much?”

The question shocked her, and she had to think for a moment. What could she have said that wouldn’t reveal the truth? Yes, Gimli, Legolas, Legolas, and many others knew, but did Boromir need to? Aowyn thought of her son, and remembered what she had asked of Ori and Balin. _Take care of him, please. Don’t let anything happen to him. Bring Loni back to me._ “They’re family.” She would have elaborated, but Aragorn came round and motioned for the two of them to come talk. Within ten minutes, a small fire was set up, with the hobbits and Gimli sleeping softly around it; Gandalf, Aragorn, Legs, Ao and Boromir all sat up and discussed the plan to move forwarf. “What were they doing here, Tharkȗn?” Aowyn knew the answer, but she needed to ask anyway, so the others would understand. She felt bad that he had been betrayed, especially by the first Istari, and one sent by Aulë no less! “They were looking for us. What purpose did they serve?”

“They were spies of Saruman.” His voice shook with age, or perhaps just grief and anger. “The passage south is being watched.”

“Then we take the pass of Caradhras.” Aragorn added with a drag from his pipe. They all nodded in agreement, and with a huff, Boromir began to stand; but Aowyn grabbed his hand.

“Let them sleep.” Her voice was soft, so soft you could hear the crackling of the fire behind them. She begged them silently, and they agreed, but on one condition. She must tell a story from long ago, and of course they would take turns, but it must start with her. With a smile, Aowyn lit her dragon-pipe –yes, from after the battle!- and began very simply. “It was 2952, the ten year anniversary of Fili and I’s marriage. Lóni, our son, was 11 and we left him in the care of Tharkȗn,” They both smiled slyly as he remembered where the story was going. Those two always got up to too much trouble, you see. “Who had graced us with his presence for the preparations of Durin’s day, which ran late that year. He decided that we would go west, to Ered Luin…” Her voice carried a little too loud, and though she hadn’t realized, the four hobbits had risen from their sleep and listened to her story, which eventually became stories, until daybreak came.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so piercings can actually get frostbite and that scares the shit out of me bc last winter it got down to -40F and I just got my nose ring like 5 months ago  
> //sobs  
> save me

The next morning, the fellowship left Eregion Hills, to head to Caradhras. The snow that seemed missing throughout the beginning of the journey had arrived. It was, needless to say, cold, and it stung Aowyn’s nose. She feared for her septum ring, hoping that it wouldn’t get too irritated, or worse, get frost bite. With a shudder at the thought, she pulled her scarf tight around her face and turned to make sure Fróri was alright. Through she had a tight hold on his reigns, she still worried that he was having trouble walking; despite the worse winters he had seen outside of the mountain. Bill the Pony, the hobbits and most of the fellowship were ahead of her, though Aragorn stayed behind to make small chat. He was beginning to say something when she heard her nephew grunt, and turned just in time to see him roll towards the two Dúnedain. Aragorn had easily caught him, and hauled Frodo up to a standing position. But as she was going to check for injuries, Ao’s heart sank when she realized the ring was no longer around his neck. The three looked up and watched as Boromir lifted the accursed thing from the white powder around them. “Boromir.” Aowyn’s voice was filled with warning, and perhaps a soupçon of venom.

“It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing...” Aowyn began to reach for Be-Header’s hilt, long before Aragorn even got the inkling that something was wrong. “Such a little thing.”

“Boromir!” The two Dunedain stepped forward, their weapons at the ready, as the man snapped from his hungry gaze. “Give the ring back to Frodo.”

Anxiety filled our protective red head, as Boromir began to plod down the mountain with the ring hanging from his hand by a mere chain. The gold band was dangerously close to touching his skin. “As you wish.” Frodo quickly snatched the chain from his hand and clutched it to his chest. Aowyn began to glare as her grip on the little one tightened. “I care not.” His eyes met Elessar’s for a moment, and the tension grew. What was he going to do? Aowyn rejected the urge to smack away his hand as Boromir reached to ruffle Frodo’s hair, before turning to rejoin the hobbits at the head of the company. Elessar and Zidar Akhuzd met eyes as the grips on their blades relaxed with deep breaths. He began to mouth something but she shook her head and knelt beside her nephew.

“Are you alright?” Her hand gently wiped away the excess snow in his hair. “Have you hurt anything?” She cupped his cheek and he placed his hand on hers.

“No.” Frodo’s blue eyes sunk down to his feet and she nodded.

“Alright. Then on we go, my dear.”

~~ 

Many hours later, perhaps even a day or two, they struggled along the edge of a cliff, all of them trudging through four feet of weakly packed ice. All, of course, save Legolas; only his footstep was soft enough to keep the snow from breaking. The wind whipped around them, threatening to whisk them away to the hollow below. The flakes were as large as your thumb and they could barely see beyond two feet in front of them! The poor hobbits, being as small as they are, needed carrying; they could not all fit on Bill and Fróri, who were struggling to carry their own weight as is. So Aowyn carried Merry (who told her jokes between the clattering of his teeth and shivering of his tongue), while the men carried Pippin, Samwise, and Frodo. Gimli took the role of leading the horses, though he could barely be seen in the snow. Aowyn’s hand raised itself to the back of Pippin’s head, and he buried his head in the crook of her neck in reply. She almost crooned at the warmth from his breath, as the cold seemed to slither through her pores and stab at her very bones. But before she could do anything, Legolas passed to the very edge of the cliff, listening close to the sounds beyond the storm. She furrowed her brows in confusion, but it was not long before she heard it as well. Someone’s voice danced on the wind, as a part of the storm as the snowflakes.

“There is a fell voice in the air." Legolas yelled, though it sounded like a whimper in the face of such a blizzard. Thunder rumbled, and it seemed to shake the very earth itself. Rock and shale fell from above the group as Gandalf confirmed their fears: it was Saruman.

“He’s trying to bring down the mountain!” Ao called out from under the thin sheet of ice that fell upon her and Pippin. “We need to do something!”

“Turn back!” Aragorn suggested, to no avail. It fell upon deaf ears, but not by choice. Gandalf had raised his staff and began to chant to the wind. Almost as a retort, the power of the wind grew; and the voice behind it rolled along the thunder, booming like Aulë’s own hammer. Lightning struck the top of the mountain, a violent blue light slithering across the dark sky with a frightening _crack_. Snow began to slide down the cliffs above them and Boromir yelled “Get down” just in time for the humans to shield the hobbits from most of the damage by throwing themselves against the face of the mountain, but it was not good enough. A small landslide buried them, and though Aragorn and Boromir found three of the hobbits fast enough, they did not see Aowyn and Pippin emerge from the heavy substance.

“Aowyn!” Legolas cried as he launched at the point where he last saw her, frantically digging for her and the little one. All Aowyn saw was white, and all she felt was a heavy cold weighing down on her lungs, the exposed skin on her body began to burn as the cold slapped her anywhere it could, and she found that she could not ground herself; had something hit her head? _Pippin_ , a voice in her mind whispered. _Find Pippin_. Fighting her grogginess, Aowyn focused on her hands and eventually felt the spine of the small hobbit balled up in her lap. “Ao!” She heard a voice, but only just. A hand grabbed her cloak and pulled the two from the ice, placing her on the ground. She remained there, flat on the ground, shivering and afraid, clutching to the being in her arms.

“We must get off of the mountain!” Ao’s eyes lazily looked over to Boromir, who had voiced his –albeit idiotic- idea. The men anxiously argued their points as Legolas pulled Ao into his lap. “The Gap of Rohan takes us to close to Isengard!” A visible shiver took over Zidar Akhuzd’s body as she remembered her last encounter in Fangorn Forest, but the next sentence spoken was enough to make her scramble to her feet.

“If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it!” Gimli yelled from the far most part of the cliff. _You fear to go into those mines, don’t you? The dwarves delved too greedily and too deep. You know what they woke. Shadow and flame._ Gandalf met Aowyn’s concerned look and she shook her head, on the verge of begging him, but he had no choice.

“Let the ring bearer decide.” All of the fellowship turned to look at the one who carried so much responsibility. So much heartache. Frodo looked at all of them and their blue lips, slow shallow breaths and half-lidded eyes. He could tell that his aunt was worse off than the rest, for she was experiencing confusion, and her steps were clumsy, uncoordinated. He concentrated on himself, and felt his slow and weak pulse. And he knew what he had to do. They would not survive much longer like this. “We will go through the mines.”

Aowyn’s heart sank. “ _No,_ ” she whispered as they began to turn back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh i'm an asshole i'm sorry  
> Have a happy chapter bc why the fuck not

Aowyn thought of the Hall of Kings. Of the golden floor; and the dragon that it was meant to trap. She thought of the tapestries, hung from such a great distance that she would hurt her neck looking at the gold bars which held them in place. Thought of the blue and red cloth, with the gold dipped embellishments; of how Bilbo had nearly been lost under one.  
She thought of a great many things, but one in particular snagged her attention.

 _"Do you…” Fili toyed with one of Aowyn’s braids as they gazed into the fire. The sound of crackling and smell of gingerbread, mixed with the feeling of their bodies melting together was enough to make Ao wish that Manwë would somehow stop time altogether and let her be at peace. “Do you even think about what would have happened, had you stayed in your world?”_  
_“No,” She whispered. “I care not for the possibilities of the past.” She looked down at the blonde man and moved to nuzzle her nose in the crook of his neck. Her eyes lazily looked over to the tall tree in the corner of the room, with presents littered underneath. It was their third Christmas together. The royal family had taken to celebrating Aowyn’s Christmas and New Year, but on the same day. The children were allowed to open their gifts after dinner, and then they would dance, sing, and drink until the sun came up. The little ones usually only lasted until midnight at the very least. Amri and Lóni were sitting next to Dwalin underneath the tree, he would hand them a box and let the child shake it, which was their way of trying to figure out what goodies were inside. Lóni squealed as one rattled, it looked like the one from Thranduil for the boy, a small, yet strong bow, crafted from the very trees of Mirkwood. Much like the elven king, Dwalin also gave her son a weapon, an axe and shield made of steel, but purposely soothed so he would not get hurt._  
_Aowyn leant back into the chair and rested her head against Fili’s with a happy sigh. The sun was setting on her old year and it would all too soon rise on another new one; the fifth year she will spend in Middle Earth. She looked over the city of Dale through the window next to her, and the river just beyond it. Fog rolled in from over Erebor and flooded through the stone streets. Teal and pink streaked the sky above as the sun gently rested in the trees. There would be no sleep for her tonight; that much she knew. But the redhead closed her eyes anyway and took a deep breath._

She exhaled slowly and opened her eyes. They were resting for the night, not too far from the place she hated most. Aowyn held a cup carved of stone in her hand, filled with tea made from local herbs she had picked. It was almost cold. The fire was crackling behind her as she sat watch. The hobbits were all sleeping. Or, at least she thought they were. Now that Ao thought about it, anyone of them could be awake. It had been a few hours since she checked on them. The human turned around and looked over all of the sleeping bags, counting all of them until she reached 8. Aragorn was missing. Where could he have snuck off to?

Aowyn stood from her spot on the stone, careful to not rouse any of the little ones, or, Mahal forbid, Gimli. Take it from me, kiddos, try not to wake up a sleeping dwarf, should you come across one. They’ll come up swinging and you may very well lose a limb or two.

Her feet tiptoed around the circle of sleeping bodies and reached for Be-Header with her still-injured hand. The wound wouldn’t fully close until she stopped using it, but she could not do that. The tree line was close enough to her now, she could see a light in the distance. It was too high up to be a fire pit, so she figured it would be Elessar with a torch. Ao’s slender body slid between to trees, branched catching on her dirty brown prairie skirt, and the rough bark scratching the back of her leather underbust vest. By now, between hunting, running, hiding, and climbing, her white tunic was in ruin. Doc martens (yes, she still has them. However, they have been re-done and fixed many times over the years) walked over stone and fallen leaves through the small forest. When she finally reached the light, there was nothing to be found. The torch was stuck between to branches so that it would remain in place. “Elessar?” Her voice was soft. She did not worry, not yet, at least. “Elessa-ah!” She yelped as quietly as she could when a great squawk piped up from behind her. There was a Raven; one too large to be a normal raven. No, this was a bird of Erebor.

“Naughty bird! Scaring your queen like that! How rude.” The fat thing croaked at her again, turning its head and peering at her with those beady eyes. “Yes, yes, not your queen anymore, I am aware, thank you. What business have you? Who are you?” The bird stepped forward -and eventually jumped on her legs as she sat down next to him- and told her that he was the son of Roäc, the old, bald, decrepit Raven who helped Thorin and the group back in TA 2941. “What an honor! Pray tell, what can I do for you, Tisil, son of Roäc?” Once again, he croaked to her and she understood. He was only tired and desired some nourishment. With a smile, she pulled bread out of her pocket and gave it to him. They chatted for a while as he pecked at the food. He told her of the orcs that were spreading among the land and pillaging any village they found. And in return for this knowledge, she would reward him with her special Honey Bread from Rivendell.  
You see, Ravens have always been great informants for Dwarves, especially Thror; as they were able to speak to one another. They would bring the King secret news, and in return, they were given shiny objects –duds or failed projects from the smiths in the mountain- to decorate their homes in Ravenhill and Dale. Aoywn, having ruled, was taught to understand many things, including ravens.

They talked for a great while, long after the torch had gone out. When Tisil had left, Ao did not get up, but rather sat and looked at the stars. She did not sit in silence for long, however.  
“Aowyn?” Elessar walked up behind her cautiously. “What are you doing?”

“I was speaking with a Raven of Erebor.” She turned to look at him. Aragorn was gaping at her, unsure if she had gone mad or if she was playing a prank on him –she had been spending a lot of time with Merry and Pippin! “Dwarves taught themselves how to speak with Ravens a long time ago. Where were you? I was worried.”

He nodded and took her explanation well, then sighed at sat next to her. “You worry about us quite a bit. I believe I may have heard Merry call you ‘Mother Hen’.” They both laughed.

“Well, I was a mother. He was not Dúnadan.” She sighed and smiled wistfully when they met eyes. “He was adopted. Fili and I found him with a pack a wargs…” And with that, she kicked off and began telling the story of Loni, the second Zidar Khuzd. When she began describing the fight, she stood, pulled Be-Header and moved the same way she had as when they fought against the wicked beasts. She even lifted her tunic and let him see the bite mark, which still covered a great portion of her torso. This story reminded Elessar of the one time he had battled a warg, and he began to share his. At some points, he would get on his knees and do an impression of a character, or he would growl and lunge at her playfully when she was supposed to be afraid. Needless to say, she laughed the entire time. Aowyn had grown fond of him, platonically of course, her Dúnedain brother.

When the sun began to rise, the pair had found themselves laying down and staring at the sky above. Aowyn’s head was facing north, and Aragorn’s faced south, their ears almost touching. Her eyes fluttered closed and she let out a small breath. “Tell me of the Valar. And of beauty.” Aragorn’s thickly voice nearly scared her, but she felt calm. She felt connected to the Valar. Perhaps she just needed sleep.

Nevertheless, she grinned and told the story of Awakening of the Elves and of the Silmarilli, the Jewels of Fëanor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, Ao's outfit:  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/f7/ce/56/f7ce56ee5ee0aafc9f8e230031ce5699.jpg


	9. I'm sorry

So, because I'm an asshole (I really am sorry), I have run out of inspiration for this story. Don't get me wrong, I still love it with all my heart. Every time I watch Lord of the Rings, Aowyn is always there in my head, making sassy retorts and stealing the scene as she usually would. But I have lost my Tolkien-Fever as far as writing goes (still a huge fan though!!). I don't know if any of you know this, but I am an artist. It is a rare occurrence that I leave the house without my sketchbook. The reason I'm telling you this, is because I am the type of artist that never finishes a project. This was my first one that really took off (ADFAA has reached 1,600 readers and that is 1,590 more than I ever had before.), and it was an adventure indeed. Thank you guys for that. Without the support you guys gave me, I wouldn't have finished three stories (one of them not even connected to this universe!) or gotten to the point I'm at now. I have started a new story, an original one, and I have high hopes for it. But who knows, maybe a year from now, I'll throw in the towel on this too. But, _dear_ _gods_ I hope not. 

After this will be all the drafts of the (not) upcoming chapters in chronological order, then my references, and then it will be over.

You have been wonderful, guys. Thank you again, so much.

Yours,  
Hal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tapastic: https://tapastic.com/slaughter-doll  
> DeviantArt: http://slaughterdolll.deviantart.com/


	10. Drafts - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again - Rough drafts, excuse my horrible grammar.

_Aowyn was NOT going to go into the mines, so I was going to have her go to Mirkwood and see Thrandy once last time. But, that would take a lot longer than they would have in Moria (43 hours, approx.)._

“My friend,” Aowyn walked up to the throne which held Thranduil and bowed her head slightly. “How are you?”

He smiled and stood from his throne. “I am well, Aowyn. How are you?”

“I fear,” she sighed and reached for his hands. He took them, and she admired how warm they were. “I fear I am nearing the end of my life.”

“De vêr?” (are you well?) Shock took over the King’s features, but was immediately replaced with worry. She was old, but surely not old enough to die of old age! Perhaps she was sick?

“Uma, I am well.” (yes) Ao looked up into his eyes, and suddenly he understood.

“You are not afraid.” Thrandy rubbed the woman’s hands with his thumb, and allowed sadness to take over his features. “Aowyn the Tall Dwarf fears nothing.” He sighed and examined the old Dunadan’s worn plams. They were scarred from many battles, and many training sessions. “Iston i velthassedh ne ndagor, de vethor veleg... Nínion an gwannad dhîn.” (I know your strength in battle, you are a mighty warrior… I mourn your passing)

Aowyn looked up into his eyes and remembered the first time they had met. It felt like so long ago, yet not long enough. When she discovered her Numenorean heritage, she imagined living much longer than a measly 98. “Gwestodh?” (do you promise?)

‘Uma.” Once again, the king sighed, he was not ready to say goodbye either. The dunadan had caused him much frustration over years, but when she had become Queen of Erebor, all those years ago, they had grown much closer, and she had even gone to him for advice –over many things, how to rule, how to raise a stubborn son, etc. When her husband and child had passed away within a month of one another, she turned to him first, before fleeing to the west.

Ao gently squeezed his hands and broke him from his thoughts. “Ú-firo i laiss e-guil dhîn.” (may the leaves of your life never die) Aowyn gently cupped his jaw, stood on her tip-toes, and kissed his forehead. “De vellon nîn n'uir. And I shall miss you dearly.” (you are my friend for enternity) They met eyes one last time, and he admired the flecks of gold in her green eyes, before noticing the tears. She was afraid, and she wasn’t ready, but she knew. Thranduil kissed the top of her hand as she pulled away. With one last bow, she turned and left the forest of Mirkwood for the last time, leaving the king in tears for the first time in decades.

~~

_After Gandalf's death._

Aowyn stood outside of Khazad-Dum, waiting for Frodo and the Fellowship to come through. When they did, she ran to Frodo, but he merely walked past her. She had already been crying, but now she was on the verge of sobbing. With blurry vision, she slowly made her way to Legolas. Once she reached him, Ao stood by his side, took his hand, and placed her forehead upon his shoulder.

Around her, the hobbits could be heard sobbing amongst themselves, and Gimli was still trying to process the loss of his kin. In all honesty, after ten years, Aowyn was still trying to realize that her son was in those tombs, beside her best friend and his brother-in-law, along with so many others. The sudden realization hit her and she collapsed in the snow, tears falling around her, melting the cold substance biting at her knees.

“Get them up.” Elessar yelled across the snow. “Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, get them up.” Aowyn did not hear the reply Aragorn earned. Though, she was sure it was slightly rude. All she could hear, were the pleads she gave her son to not leave, all those years ago. Heard her begging Ori to protect Lóni, and heard her violent sobs echo around her stone walls. She heard the kind words that had been spoken at Fee’s funeral, she felt the cold of his tomb against her fingertips. Without thinking, she hugged herself and began to curl into a ball, with her left hand roughly squeezing the tattoo of “ _Amad, Adad, I love you_!” in her son’s handwriting.

“Aowyn,” Legolas gently rubbed her back and whispered in her ear. “Come, we must go.”

 

~~

_Boromir's Death & Afterwards_

The horn of Gondor rang loud for Aowyn, for she was the closest to Boromir.

“Boromir!” Aowyn cried out as she pushed both of the hobbits behind her, in a pathetic and failed attempt to shield them from the horrors of death. She stood stunned as he continued to fight, despite the arrows in his chest. When he finally collapsed, the two hobbits ran towards the Uruk-Hai and began to attack them as best they could. When she saw this, she lunged forward and landed a punch to the jaw of one of the Uruk-Hai, but she shoved her down and picked up Pippin. When she landed, the base of her skull landed against a sharp rock, sending a wave of pain and shock throughout her entire body. “Boys! No!” Ao cried out for them and reached to grab Pippin’s little hand, which was reaching for her from the back of an orc. But he was quickly taken away, despite Aowyn’s protests. When she tried to stand and get to Merry, who was being chased, an orc –the same one that had killed Boromir- sliced open her calf and left her to bleed out in the dirt. With a scream, she fell and clutched the wound, red pouring from between her fingers and pooling beneath her in a puddle. It didn’t take long for them to disappear, leaving Aowyn alone with a dying Son of Gondor.

Ao growled as she tore a long strip from her tunic, then tied it around her calf; the blood loss was easily enough to worry her, had it been anyone else, and it’s true, she was trying not to faint, but she had other things to worry about. She would stitch herself up after Boromir was okay. She crawled over to him and cupped his face with one hand, as the other laid flat on his chest. “Take the Leaf of Lorien,” he panted weakly as he led her hand to the brooch. “Take it to my brother.”

“No, my friend.” She shook away the tears forming in her eyes. “You will live to wear it. This is not the first arrow wound I have treated, nor will it be the last.” But the second she tried to move it, he stopped her, then reached up and touched the scar on her cheek. The gesture made her flinch, as it had not been touched since the last time she saw her husband.

“It is over for me, Aowyn.”

At these words, she bit her lip, in an effort to bite back tears, but failed terribly. Her lungs began to shake as she leaned over and kissed his temple. “You were selfless, courageous, and you have earned back your honour, Boromir.” She panted and squeezed her eyes closed, hoping that when she opened them, he would be healed. Needless to say, he wasn’t. “I am sorry for what I said to you in Rivendell. You are my people, and I am yours.” She apologized again, as if Eregion Hills never happened. This time, she had poured her entire heart into the apology, and she would avenge him. She would make them pay. She breathlessly and began to repeat “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… _I’m sorry_.” As if apologizing would bring him back. As if Aulë, or Yavanna, or even Manwë would hear her and give him back. In reaction to this, he placed his hand on the back of her neck to pull her down, and kissed her forehead. Sobs tore through her like a blade and she pulled back, ever so little.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and gently pushed her away. She watched as Aragorn said his last goodbye.

As the boys gently lowered him into the boat, Aowyn pulled a bead from her backpack as she stroked his hair. “Take this man of Gondor into your loving arms, and grant him passage to the Hall of Kings. Vala, guard Boromir, and lead him in death as you did in life.” Her fingers gently took five strands of hair, braiding hem together and adding a special bead to it. “Av-'osto; savo 'lass a lalaith: _Khazâd-bâhu._ ” (Do not be afraid; have joy and laughter, until next we meet: friend of dwarves) The bead was special, made of mithril and had bâhu, meaning friend, carved into it. “Be at peace.” She kissed his temple again, and place the Horn of Gondor under the shield that lay behind his head. When Ao looked up, she realized that the boys had been watching her, Gimli’s jaw hung open.

“Y-y-you named him Dwarf-Friend,” his thick Scottish accent stuttered desperately. “That is-”

“An honor he should have received before his death.” Aowyn cut him off abruptly. When it became obvious Gim was going to continue fighting her on it, she raised her hand as she stood from beside their friend. “He died saving the son of Thorin, son of Thrain.”


	11. Drafts - Part Two

_"The White Wizard" Chapter_

They rode up to the pile of carcasses, the foul smell of burnt and rotting flesh filling the air. It had just gone out, so there was still smoke, rising from the pile and wafting through the air, making Aowyn cringe. It had been a long time since she had smelled something so awful. They all got down and begin looking at the tracks, but as if in a trance, Ao pulled out her Warhammer and mindlessly walked to the edge of Fangorn forest. Gimli began digging through the ashes with his axe, until he found something. “It’s one of their wee belts…” He had barely said it, so she did not hear it, but she knew the story. Or, at least, how Tolkien chose to portray it. Legolas began to pray and tears of fear brimmed her eyes as she listened to the elvish words. Behind her, she could hear Aragorn kick a helmet and scream, which made her flinch. Again, Gimli murmured quietly. “We failed them.”

But as he said this, Aragorn looked up and noticed the woman, staring into the dark woods ahead. Something wasn’t right. His instincts told him that there was more to the story here. So Estel began looking around, until he noticed the tracks. “They lead away from the battle!” After following them, he came side-by-side with Aowyn. “Into Fangorn Forest…” He looked over to her. “Did you know?”

“I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t anymore.” She looked over to him, as a single tear slid down her cheek. “In the story, they go in there, yes. And I haven’t stepped foot in this forest for 70 years, I’ve no idea what lays ahead.”

“Fangorn.” Gimli shudders. “What madness drove ‘em in there?”

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged looks, and walk into the place where Aowyn first learnt of her heritage. They were maybe twenty minutes into the forest, when Aowyn dropped and began to scream. The cut on her hand began to burn with the force of a thousand suns, and she began to shake from the pain. Screeches of the Nazgul rang in her ears, making her cry out louder. Somewhere in the distantance, she heard voices.

_I thought they were dead!_

_Dead? No, you cannot kill them, no._

_Wraiths on wings!_

She felt Frodo’s lust for the ring’s power and how good it felt surge through her, feeling as though she were to orgasm, Ao screamed “No!” Her hands clenched onto the ground, dirt covering her hands and filling the space between her nails and skin.

_They are calling for it. They are calling for the precious._

She felt like someone tore her away from the lust, and the screeches faded. Legolas fell to her side and pulled her into his arms. “They are so close to the black gate… And yet, so far.” Tears brimmed her eyes again as she pushed into his shoulder, her hands falling to her side, and she felt weaker than she had in many a year. Legolas picked her up and guided her to a large stone, so she could rest for a moment. She had suddenly become light-headed, and her entire body felt heavy.

“What happened?” Estel walked over with one hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “What was that?”

“That… was Fuinur’s connection to me.” She sat down and looked to Aragorn, showing him her palm. “When his blade sliced my hand, he knew it was me, his granddaughter. I don’t know, something about my blood connecting with him. Since then, he has been showing me everything concerning Frodo and the ring. I don’t know how.”

“Why?”

“He is trying to apologize for everything he had done for the ring. For Sauron.” She stood up and walked away. “They want the ring destroyed.”

~~

A few moments later, Gimli picked a substance off of a leaf and licked it, before spitting it out. “Orc blood.” Quickly and quietly, the four crossed a small stream and followed it upstream.

Aragorn knelt down and felt the ground. “These are strange tracks.”

“The air is so close in here.” Gimli slightly panted, and Ao walked up behind him to pat his shoulder, before walking away again.

“This forest is old… Very old. Full of memory, and anger.” –Legs. They panted and rested as a creaking surrounded them. Gimli immediately reached for his axe. “The trees are speaking to each other!”

“Gimli!” Aragorn hissed to the dwarf. And motioned to him. “Lower your axe.”

“ _Oh_.” Ao smacked the back of his head and walked forward. Gently touching the bark and whispering to the trees.

“They have feelings, my friend.” Legolas “The elves began it, waking up the trees, teaching them to speak.”

“Talking trees.” Gim huffed. “What do trees have to talk about, hm? Except the consitancy of squirrel droppings.”

As they walked, Aowyn breathed a laugh. “It is true, Gimli, I have seen it with my own eyes.” She stopped and rested her hand flat on an injured tree, telling it that she was sorry for its pain and that she wished she could do something to help. She began to say something else to the men, but Legolas picked up his pace.

“Aragorn, nad no ennas!” (Something’s out there.) The two stopped between a pair of trees, and Legolas looked around, taking in everything he could.

“Man cenich?” –Aragorn

“The white wizard approaches.” His eyes flicked over to the left, motioning that he was behind the group, Gimli panted a few fearful breaths, and Aragorn whispered.

“Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us.” Aowyn had to turn around to hide her amused smile, as they all pulled out their weapons. “We must be quick.” And quickly, they all turned around with weapons at the ready, and Aowyn merely leaned against a tree, wishing she had popcorn.

A great white light flooded the trees and they were faced with the ‘White Wizard’. First, Gimli threw his axe, and it was easily knocked away, becoming nothing but shards of metal and splinters. Next, Legolas shot his nocked arrow, but the wizard easily misdirected it. Aragorn tried to raise his sword, however, it became red-iron hot, and he was forced to drop it. All three men stood shocked. “You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits.” A disembodied voice that sounded like Saruman’s mixed with another seemed to come from every tree around them, surrounding them like the very air itself.

“Where are they?!” – Aragorn

“They passed this way, the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?”

“Who are you?” Aragorn. A dramatic silence dragged on. “Show yourself!” As the light faded, Gandalf stepped forward and leant against his staff. Happiness filled Aowyn’s heart, and she walked forward to stand beside the boys. “It cannot be,” Aragorn whispered.

“Forgive me,” Legolas knelt down, Gimli following in his lead. “I mistook you for Saruman.”

“I _am_ Saruman.” Gandalf’s eyes met Aowyn’s and she placed a hand over her heart and bowed. “Or, rather, Saruman as he should have been.”

Aragorn stepped forward, tears nearly brimming his eyes. “You fell…”

Gandalf’s grin disappeared. “Through fire. And water.” They listened to him tell how he came back. The fight with the Balrog. About his death, and his rebirth. “I’d been sent back, until my task is done.”

“Gandalf…” Aragorn stepped forward once again, closing the short distance between them.

“Gandalf?” A confused look crossed the wizard’s face, until he smiled warmly. “Yes…That is what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey… That was my name.”

“Gandalf!” Gimli was nearly crying, and Aowyn kneeled down to rub his back.

The wizard laughed softly. “ _I_ am Gandalf the _White_.” He looked into Legolas’ eyes, and when the elf nodded, he turned back to Aragorn. “And I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide.” They hiked through the forest, nearing the edge to the south. “One stage of your journey is over. Another begins. We must travel to Edoras with all speed.”

“Edoras?!” Gimli exclaimed.

“Are you going to save King Theoden, Gandalf?” (Aowyn) At her question, he stopped and turned.

“I am going to try.”

_~~_

_The Aftermath of the Plantir_

“there was no lie in his eyes.”(Gandalf - Throne room)

Aowyn stood beside Pippin, his head resting on her hip, with her hand running through his hair. He had not left her side since he had let go of the Plantír.

~~

After Pippin had left, Ao watched him leave from one of the watch towers, and Merry ran beside her with Aragorn not too far behind. They stood and spoke, but she did not listen. The cut on her hand stung with a thousand volts and she heard Smeagol’s voice in her head, he spoke with Frodo, and she could feel how close they were to Mordor. But they were taking a different road… One that does not lead to Mordor… _Cirith Ungol._ The realization hit her like a stone to the back of the head, and before she could fully realize what she was doing, she had run all the way back to the palace and slammed a door behind her –she did not know which, nor did she care. All she could feel was pain, physical and emotional, and it was exhausting.

“My lady?” Eowyn stood behind her with a look of shock at the sudden visitor. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Ao straightened her back and wiped her tears away.

~~


	12. Drafts - Part Three - End

_Aowyn's Death - Mordor_

The ground was rough against her side as Aowyn fell against it, with a dead Tauriel at her side. A tear slid itself down her cheek as she weakly reached over and caressed the elleth’s cold face. “I will see you soon… _Sister_.”

With every ounce of strength she had, Ao rolled over and looked above to the sky. The red of the eye and Mount Doom blended with the dark grey clouds that would, in any normal circumstance, suggest rain. Around her, the growls of orcs, screams of men and elf alike, and the screeches of Nazgul melted into one loud voice that promised her demise. She noticed one in particular above her, and soon recognised him as her grandfather, watching his only descendant pass away.  Her eyes slowly traced the creature he rode across the sky, and felt a strange calm take over her body. This was it, the end of her adventure.

Everything slowed as Aragorn fell to her side and pulled her into his lap. He tried his best to gain her attention, and only succeeded for a few moments. “Aowyn,” he cupped her face and she looked into his eyes. “Aowyn, stay with me.”

“It would seem…” Aowyn placed her hand on his and smiled. The warmth against her cheek felt nice. “You have been put into this position twice, my friend, and… I am sorry for that.” His eyes teared, and that made her breathe out a small sob. “Look after Frodo for me? Kiss Arwen, and console Legolas and Gimli, and hug that damned wizard.” She gasped and let a cry of agony -both emotional and physical- burst out of her lips as she tried to breathe,. “I will miss them all so much.” Her breaths were labored now. The arrow had finally dug into her left lung.

“You aren’t going anywhere.” His gloved hand put a little more pressure on her cheekbone. “I forbid it.”

She smiled and let another tear fall down her cheek as she thought of how she’d said the same thing to her son, ten years before. “I would have followed you, my Númenórean brother, until the White City fell.” She laughed a little at that, knowing that the city would never fall, especially under his reign. “You will be a wonderful king, and you will live a long and happy life.”

“No. You will be there with me, my sister.” Elessar’s tears were nearly flowing now, balancing gently on the brim of his waterline. She ached to wipe them away. “Don’t go, you must stay. For Frodo!”

She shook her head at this and smiled sadly. “For…” She panted against the arrows in her chest, which were now pouring blood from the amount of talking she had done, and winced as she tried to speak. “For Frodo…” The last thing she ever did, was reach up and caress his face gently, not in a romantic way, no. Never. But in the way that she felt guilty for leaving him, the last Dúnadan in Middle Earth. The last thing she saw, was Aragorn scream, and run back into battle, as Legolas took his place next to Ao. With the last of her dwindling strength, she reached up and touched his cheek, but only made it halfway and settled on his arm. Suddenly, her eyes felt heavy, and she quickly fell into her last sleep with a painless smile, and the tracks of fresh tears upon her face.

Aragorn pulled her into his arms and sobbed gently, holding her limp body tightly against his chest, in a pathetic and desperate attempt to bring her back. _This can’t be the end!_ He thought to himself. _She was supposed to live so much longer._ And though she never knew it, after the battle, Legolas, Gimli, Frodo, and even Samwise fell to their knees over Ao and Tauriel’s bodies and cried harder than they ever had.

~~

_The Afterlife????_

A white light surrounded Ao, and it blinded her for a few seconds. Faintly, she could hear the _tink_ and _clank_ of mining tools, and the sounds of running rivers. And when her vision began to come back to her, she found herself in the vast hills of Smaug’s Desolation outside of Erebor, and it had returned to its full beauty. Not too far from her, she saw Tauriel in a similar state of wonder, and when to two met eyes, they ran towards each other and embraced happily. Happy tears flooded from the two, as they hugged one another tightly. “I thought… I didn’t know you would come here!”

“Me either,” The elleth smiled through her tears. “Me either.”

“Girls.” Thorin’s thick voice rang in Ao’s ears and when she turned to look at him, she could not stop herself from tackling him –not that she could knock him down, dwarves are as strong as the stone they mine-. When she wrapped her arms around him, he laughed greatly and patted her back. “Welcome to Erebor, in all of its beauty.” He had said this to Tauriel more than Ao. “Welcome home, Zidar Akhuzd.”

She had barely any time to finish her first hug, when she needed to give another. “Amad,” Little Lóni’s voice beckoned to her, and she jumped like a bullet from a gun. Her son, her beautiful, wonderful, perfect son, stood there with open arms. All she could do was place her hands over her mouth and walk towards him, unsure if this was real or a dream. She hoped, Mahal she hoped, that it was real. When she finally reached him, her hands cupped his face, and revelled in the feeling. He was younger than when he died, perhaps 25, versus nearly 50, and she looked like she was the same age as well. When her hands proved that her eyes did not deceive her, Aowyn pulled him into her arms, and squeezed tightly, which made Lóni laugh greatly. “Amad, please!” This, of course, only made her hug tighter, and in return, he wrapped his arms around her waist and spun them in a circle. Such happiness had not filled her heart in so long, but something was missing. Someone was missing. When Lóni set her down, she placed her hands on his chest and stepped back with a smile.

“Your father?”

“Here, my love.” Once again, Aowyn turned round, but this time, it was too see her soul mate. The one who had ever truly caught her heart, and she cried when she saw him. Ao did the same thing she had to her son, to make sure that her eyes were still telling the truth, and then she pulled him into a kiss by tugging at his moustache. His lips were just the same as she had remembered, but she had satiated a 10 year ache, and that made it even better. “I’ve missed you so much.” She sniffled and ran her thumb across his cheekbone.

“As have I,” Their foreheads made contact, and Fee’s hand played with her braid. “As have I.”

~~

_The last Chapter of End of an Adventure._

~~

Aowyn had always checked up on Frodo and her dear Bilbo, every now and again. Being dead was, for all of its perks, boring at times. She loved being around her family (and don’t get her started on the feasts!), but she missed those who still took breath. Whenever she was allowed, she would check on Gondor and the King, see her cousin Gimli and his husband Legolas –who had taken Amri under their wing and travelled to Aman, the Blessed Realm, after Kili died in FA 120, not long after Elessar’s own death in Gondor-, but what she loved the most, more than anything, was seeing Frodo. She would walk beside him when he and Bilbo went to the market, sit on the bench when they smoked their shire-weed, sat at the table and listen to them go on and on during tea, and she would make sure the candles were blown out when they went to bed.

And, of course, when the four year anniversary of Weathertop rolled around, she rode beside the two as they went to the harbor. Thranduil, Galadriel, Celeborn, and Elrond were all there, alongside Gandalf. She stood tall behind the four halflings, her transparent hands running through their hair one at a time. This would be the last time she saw them, and it hurt her. However, she was honoured to have seen them come this far. They had found strength and courage in themselves. They had grown to become such wonderful men, and nothing in this world, the next, or the one beyond could change her pride in them.

Despite the fact that they could not hear her, she kneeled down and kissed each one on the forehead, and spoke a small prayer to Mahal, asking for protection and happiness.

When it came time for Frodo to say goodbye, Gandalf turned to tell him to hurry, but met Ao’s eyes for the briefest of minutes. How he saw her, she wasn’t entirely sure. He only looked long enough to see her cover her heart and bow slightly, before she turned to look at her nephew one last time. Tears filled her eyes as she kissed his temple. To her surprise, Frodo touched where she had kissed and turned to look at her. She smiled at him and gently ran her finger across his cheek, wishing she could wipe away his tears. But she could not, and she accepted that. With the last of her strength, Aowyn wrenched herself away from him and left for the last time. She slowly faded from their sight with every step she took, and went back to where she belonged; in the afterlife, drinking and celebrating with all of the Kings of the past, her beloved husband, child, and her dear, dear friends, _The Company of Thorin Oakenshield._

 

_“I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I ugly cried when I wrote ALL of this, if it makes you feel better


	13. Letters - Part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aowyn's letters, that were to be sent in the event of her death. She left them in an envelope (except for Aragorn's) on her bed for Amri. There were going to be seven, but I never finished the others.

**_Letter Three – Samwise_ **

_Dearest Samwise the Brave,_

_Thank you. You saved my nephew and you stood by him, throughout the worst. I owe you the greatest debt, and one day it will be fulfilled. Along with this letter, I send you the necklace that King Fili gave to me when he proposed. Find courage in this, and be with the one who has caught your heart. Trust in this old ‘seer’ for once, and tell Rosie how you feel._

_Should you ever need help, with anything, Erebor will be there to help. I promise you this._

_Stay strong my friend,_

_Queen Aowyn_

****

**_Letter Five – Elessar and Arwen_ **

_To the king of Gondor, and my dear friend, Aragorn._

_Fear not. I know you have your reservations and doubts, but I assure you, you will be a great king. Remember what I told you, when you were but a child, visiting Erebor with Elrond. The White City will remain strong and true, and you will make both Boromir and myself proud. I do not need to be breathing to know that. Know that I stand with you, despite the fact that I am with the kings of old. Though I cannot speak for Boromir, I am sure he lingers within the walls of the White City as well._

_My friend, I miss you so. We had many wonderful memories on this adventure. My last adventure. I am glad that I spent it with you. I write this, mere hours after Denethor’s death, and now, we discuss the possibilities of war. Tonight, I will send this to my Niece in Erebor, via Raven, and you will receive it upon my death. Looking at you now, I can see it. I can see you with a crown upon your head. Do not read this and say I know nothing. I ruled the Lonely Mountain for nearly 50 years, I am, to say the least, experienced._

_I must go. It is time. I fear this is the last letter I will ever write. If it is, I am glad that I will soon see my son and husband. I miss them with all my heart._

_Goodbye, Estel._

_~Aowyn._

****

**_Letter Seven – Amri_ **

_My beautiful Niece,_

_Please do not hate me for asking this of you, but you are the only one I can trust with this task. I need you to deliver all seven of these letters. I will not pretend to know where all of the recipients will be, for by the time you read this, I will be long gone, and I fear your mother might be as well. I am sorry for that. I wish I could be there with you, my dear._

_Know that your mother and I are both proud of you, and we have been since we discovered she bore you. Even then, I knew you would become the proud, beautiful, and wonderful warrior princess you are today._

_Please, visit your cousin Frodo, and your grandfather, Bilbo, I know he misses you dearly. You will like the Shire. It is calm and peaceful there, with rolling hills, winding rivers, and joyous pubs._

_I love you, Amri, please never forget that._

_With incredible love, until I see you next,_

_Aunt Aowyn._

****


	14. Letters - Part Two - End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frodo's letter(s) deserves its own chapter.

**_Letter One - Frodo_ **

It was a month after the ring was destroyed that Frodo received a parcel from Aowyn. Well, the letter was from her, but delivered by a dwarf (who looked slightly elvish) with the words “Should you need me, I’ll be at the Green Dragon Inn.” It was the only mail he had received as of late, for he had been gone a long time, and no one thought it important to send for him. And on top of that, Bilbo was growing very old and very sick, to which Frodo feared the end of his uncle’s life. Nevertheless, he took the letter from the woman and walked inside. The last time he had seen his aunt, she was bloody and limp on the dirt in Mordor. She had died fighting for him. No, not just him, for Middle Earth as well. He had to remember that it wasn’t his fault.

As Frodo opened the (rather large and heavy) envelop, he noticed how shaky the handwriting was. He wasn’t sure if it was because she was scared, crying, or writing quickly, but despite the shaking, her graceful signature reminded him of water, the way it naturally flows, and how it tries to wash away your worries.

“ _My dearest Frodo,_

_I feel that I am nearing the end of my life, so I write to you out of fear. Fear of never being able to tell you this tale, as well as you never knowing exactly who your parents are. Your real parents, that is. With Bilbo’s wit deteriorating by the day, and your khagam and cousins long gone, I fear you will never hear this from anyone but me. And it saddens me that you don’t remember your first steps which scrambled up the wonderful throne room stairs in the Lonely Mountain that I wish you called home. And that you don’t know that your first word was in actually Khuzdul. Or that you may never see the portrait of you (being held by your fathers) that is painted in the Royal Hall._

_Before I begin, I ask that you try not to be angry with either of your fathers. You must understand the fear they felt for you. Not only of the dangers royalty (especially with your stubborn bloodline) brings, but of the dragon-sickness that has the potential to run through your veins. They did what they thought best for your health, I promise you this._

_Enclosed in this envelope is our family tree, a handwritten book that will teach you the language of your kin (I ask you to never share this with anyone except for your children. Not even Samwise, Meridoc, or Pippin.), drawings of you that I have collected from your first little bit in Erebor, letters from your kin that we have saved, a gift from Thorin, and the story of your fathers._

_You are royalty, my dear nephew. Frodo Frerin Bagginshield, son of Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. You are the cousin of Kili, and his brother Fili. The second cousin of Kili’s daughter, Amri (her nickname). Your aunt is Thorin’s sister, Dis, and your uncle (whom you are named after) is Frerin, who died many a year ago. There are also your two cousin-in-laws, Tauriel (Kili’s wife) and myself. You also have Gimli, son of Gloin, as distant kin. But, as I’m sure you’re suspecting, Bilbo Baggins is the one who bore you._ ”

The halfing stared at the sentence with utter disbelief. How was ‘Uncle’ Bilbo his father? He knew that most hobbits –regardless of gender- could bear a child, but it was seldom that they gave the child away! With a sideways glace towards his ‘uncle,’ (who was smoking outside) Frodo tried to catch his breath. He saw it sometimes… The possibility. Bilbo had the same nose, smile, and the same habits as Frodo. But there were many things missing. His hair, for example. The raven curls were nothing like his ‘uncle’s,’ save for the curly part. And his eyes? Neither of his (apparently adoptive) parents had eyes that nearly shone in the nighttime, like his did.

To make sure what his aunt said was true, he pulled out a small stack of paper that was in-between the incredibly long letter and a book. On the top was the Durinson Family Tree. Sure enough, underneath Thrain were three children; Dis, Frerin, Thorin. Thorin was connected to Bilbo Baggins with knotted gold, and beneath them was a portrait of a baby with the name _Frodo F. Bagginshield._ There was also Fili and Kili underneath Dis. Fili being tied to a younger portrait of Aowyn, and Kili was connected to an elf named Tauriel. The ladder of the couples had a daughter below them –The woman who delivered this!-, whose name he could not read. She sort of looked like him, except she had red hair instead of black, and she had a narrower face. Underneath Aowyn was a child who looked like Fili, his name blurred as well, but this time with water marks… _Tears._ There was also a man with boar horns in his beard, called Dain of the Ironhills, who was his second-cousin.

There were many dwarves on this list, stretching all the way back to the second age. But none, save for the Baggins’s, were Shire-Folk. With a huff of frustration, Frodo picked up his mug, turned back to the letter, and skimmed the paragraphs until something caught his eye.

“ _The day you said your first word was a sunny one, with no clouds to be seen in the sky. Thorin and Bilbo were visiting, so naturally, the family was in the vast grassy fields of the mountain having a joyous picnic. As a babe, you loved braids, and loved to pull them even more. This frustrated your father, for he had a great long braid on the left side of his face and it hurt quite a bit when you yanked it. Anyways, there we sat having wine and ale, laughing and playing with the babes, when all of a sudden you began to shriek with all of the air in your small lungs. This was normal, for you were also a loud babe, so Thorin went and picked you up with a large grin on his face (there is a drawing of this)._ ”

Without setting down his coffee, Frodo shuffled through the papers until he found what Ao spoke of. As far as he could tell (and from what his aunt had shown him), it had been painted with watercolours over faint traces of pencil and drawn with ink afterwards. There was a portrait of a man, who was wearing a sky blue hood over his bushy black and grey hair. Many braids and beads adorned him, but none shone as brightly as the laugh that tugged at his cheeks. In his arms there was a child with a similar hood and a hand wrapped tightly around a large braid. The child, which was Frodo, also had a small braid of his own with a bead in it. It was different to the ones in Thorin’s hair.  Instead of runes, there was simply a sword (Frodo later learned that this was his, specially forged for him on his first birthday).

“ _At first, it sounded like a cough. You had only ever heard this word from the countless hours of Thorin trying to get you to repeat it, so the second he understood, he began to laugh greatly. The only time I had heard a laugh like this from him, was the day you were born._

 _As I said, it sounded like a cough at first because Khuzdul is rough on the throat when you’re learning it. But soon (after repeating it thrice), you were able to say it confidently. “Khagam! Khagam!” I can still hear you giggling, and see you tugging at his braid with that wonderful smile of yours. How he loved you, Frodo. You were his sun, his moon… Hell, his king. We all loved you, with our entire hearts. We miss you._ ”

Quickly, he fumbled through the ever growing stack of papers around him and grabbed the book to look for a translation. _Khagam meant father._ Tears pricked Frodo’s eyes as he set the leather-bound journal down and flipped through the other drawings. There were many, including one of him and Aowyn in the infirmary. She was smiling and letting him hold her finger as she listened to his heart. He couldn’t have been older than a year. In the bottom corner was a signature he did not recognize, but would soon know, because on the back of this drawing was another letter from the artist.

“ _Frodo,_

_Chances are, you do not remember me. My name is Ori and I am your Aunt’s best friend. My husband could very much be considered your father’s ‘right hand man.’ We wanted to write you this small note to remind you of us, and how much we truly care about you._

_Dearest Frodo, know that you are loved by everyone in the company. Know that you will always have an army, should you need one. And most importantly, know that you always have a home and family here who will die for you._

_We love you,_

_Ori & Dwalin_”

How could Bilbo never tell him this? Why didn’t he remember his khagam –as Aowyn calls him-? He remembered a Thorin _Oakenshield_ , whom Bilbo spoke of highly, but rarely, however he had died before Frodo was born. Or, at least he thought. Everything was so confusing now. What was true? His -adopted- parents loved him, Bilbo loved him and took care of him when there was no one left. That was still the truth, but was everything else?

Frodo needed air. He couldn’t breathe in the small, rounded, walls of Bag End, so he stacked all the paper and packed a small basket of lunch. A sandwich, some tea in a jar, and tea biscuits. After that, large feet took him over the hills and to a large oak tree next to a road about ten minutes from Bilbo. It was his favourite spot to read when he was waiting for Gandalf, or just reading in general. No one bothered him there, he could be alone with his thoughts. Of course, it wasn’t just him today, Aowyn and Thorin were there too. He could feel them with him and it comforted him greatly.

“ _The day your father died was tragic, I had never seen Bilbo so sad. It was old age, of course. He was very old when we reclaimed the Mountain, and was nearly 200 when he passed. His body was taken back to Erebor so he could be buried with his kin, and the funeral still hurts me. Forgive me for crying, I know the ink will run. But I cannot help myself as I sit before your father, my beloved husband, his brother, my son’s empty casket and your khagam’s brother. All of them would be so proud of you and who you have become. He left you a letter and small parcel.”_

She was right, the ink did run a little and the paper had water damage in some spots, and he wept with her as he read the next page. It was a different hand writing, one that was obviously used to writing in runes not letters, for it was boxy and rough. The letter was old, probably about 70 years, which means it was written around the time Frodo was born.

            “ _My son,_

_I’m sure that if you are reading this, then you are a little overwhelmed. But I imagine you also feel incredibly loved, considering every dwarf in Erebor wanted to write you a letter when we left. I know that Aowyn will give (if not tell) you everything we never did, as we asked her to. In this I have enclosed your bead, your father’s bead, and my own. Carry –or wear- these when you need strength. All of our kin, all of our ancestors, your father and I, all stand with you in times of need. Never be afraid, my son. The world is terrifying, and it is okay to be afraid, but you do not need to be. I am always with you._

_Forever yours,_

_Thorin Bagginshield_ ”

In the parcel were indeed three beads, and after some investigating (translating), he found out which were which. The first was large and silver, with five simple runes that spelled out Thorin. The next was gold and spelled out Burglar with a small sword carved into it, that one was Bilbo’s. Frodo’s, however, spelled nothing. It was made of (what looked like) mithril, and had a dagger with a sort of vine wrapped around it. They felt cool in his hands and he could have sworn there was a large hand resting on his shoulder, but when he looked, there was nothing (which saddened him). “Kha… Damn.” Frodo winced at the rough feeling in his throat as he tried to say the word for the first time since he was a wee babe. “Kha… _Khagam_. Khagam. Khagam.” It felt weird on his tongue, but oddly enough, it felt comfortable as well. As if he was meant to say it and meant to speak Khuzdul. The hand on his shoulder returned and he simply placed his on top of it. His khagam was there with him.

            “ _Dearest Frodo, I hope you visit the halls of your family once again. I know you will decide to leave with your uncle in a few years, but before then, I ask that you see the painting of you and your parents. The beautiful stone halls which bore you. Meet your wonderful kin. It is your choice, but I believe with all my heart that it will bring you some peace._ ”

“I don’t need to go to Erebor to meet one of them.” Without thinking, Frodo sat up and ran as fast as he could to the Inn.

~~

“She loved a long and happy life, cousin. She was 92 when she died.” Amri set her hand on Frodo’s and smiled softly. “Lóni would agree with me, if he was here. He knew her better than I did.”

 

“Where is he?” Frodo whispered softly, hoping that his kin wouldn’t answer. He remembered a day, long ago, when Aowyn knocked on their door during a storm. She and Bilbo sat on the couch crying for what seemed like hours. Vaguely, Frodo remembered a name being repeated and until today, he couldn’t remember it.

 

“He perished in Khazad-Dum.” Her face suddenly turned dark against the orange glow of the hearth. “Alongside Náli and Frár. Not long after, Ori and Uncle Balin departed.” Frodo shuddered. His cousin was among the countless bodies in Moria that Gimli cried over. Balin was the one in the tomb. The scribe next to the crypt was his aunt’s best friend. And he never knew. Upon noticing his uncomfortable expression, Amri squeezed his hand and took a shaky breath. “It was a brave death, and most likely one of the most honourable ones he could have hoped for.”

 

“Will you…” Frodo quickly closed his mouth, but then reopened it. “Would you tell me about Erebor?”

 

Amri smiled, leant back in her chair, and took a swig of her beer. “Of course.”


	15. References!

Khuzdul References:  
•http://www.meryrose.altervista.org/html/modules.php?name=Khuzdul  
•http://www.angelfire.com/bug/ferris78/subpage.html  
Dwarrow Marriage Reference(s):  
•https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/2013/04/11/whos-the-bride-dwarven-marriage/  
Sindarin and Quenya Reference(s):  
•http://www.arwen-undomiel.com/elvish/phrases.html  
Orcish Reference(s):  
•http://www.angelfire.com/ia/orcishnations/orcishphrases.html  
Nazgul References:  
•http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Nazg%C3%BBl  
•https://atolkienistperspective.wordpress.com/2014/02/20/identity-and-origins-of-the-nazgul/  
•http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Angmar   
Dúnedain References:  
•http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/N%C3%BAmenor  
•http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Arthedain   
•http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Downfall_of_N%C3%BAmenor   
Elvish Reference(s):  
•http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Elven_Life_cycle   
Scripts:  
•http://www.imsdb.com/scripts/Lord-of-the-Rings-Fellowship-of-the-Ring,-The.html  
•http://www.imsdb.com/scripts/Lord-of-the-Rings-The-Two-Towers.html  
•http://www.imsdb.com/scripts/Lord-of-the-Rings-Return-of-the-King.html

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tha-Tha-Tha-That's all folks


End file.
